Heller's Girlfriend (34 page)

We finally made it through the
doors into the hospital. The cops formed a fresh cordon in front of
the entrance to stop any of the paparazzi from entering. The
Heller’s
men would be on duty on the inside wherever Yoni
was taken.

We’d just wasted another thirty
minutes trying to move Yoni from the ambulance to the emergency
ward. Wanda’s face was wan and pinched with anxiety.

“It’ll be okay,” I consoled,
patting her hand, not sure if it would or not.

We killed time silently together
in the waiting room. I rang Heller to update him on the situation,
even though I was sure he’d probably heard all about it from his
men. I wished I hadn’t when, without even a hello, he launched into
a lecture about the importance of following police directives and
not drawing attention to yourself. The
Heller’s
grapevine
had been busy again. Bored, I only half-listened and hung up as
soon as possible. Didn’t anyone appreciate the fact that the cop
had
hit
me! That’s not right!

It was very early in the morning
before we heard from the doctor.

“We had to undertake a gastric
lavage,” he told us. We squinted at him in ignorance. “We pumped
her stomach.”
Aah!
“She’ll be all right, but she’s a little
weak at the moment. We’d like to keep her in for observation for
the rest of the night and most of the morning, but she should be
ready to leave at lunchtime. I suggest you go home and get some
rest yourself and come back then.”

Barely controlling another
jaw-cracking yawn, it sounded like good advice to me. A couple of
fresh
Heller’s
men arrived to relieve the current men and
guard Yoni’s private room while the rest of us went home.

Wanda and I hitched a ride back
to the hotel in one of the
Heller’s
vehicles. On our return,
I poked my head into Yoni’s room, glad to see that the hotel
management had sent in a cleaning team. The carpet was freshly
shampooed and the bed remade with crisp clean sheets, the scent of
air-freshener not quite masking the stench of vomit and shit.
Before I collapsed onto my rollaway, I rang Heller again to let him
know that Yoni would be okay and we’d pick her up the next morning.
I couldn’t stop yawning throughout the phone call and he finally
ordered me to go to sleep because he couldn’t understand a word I
was saying.

Geez, he was so grumpy
lately
, I muttered to myself as I tried to find a comfortable
position in the lumpy, creaky bed.

Chapter 24

The next morning, over what
should have been a peaceful breakfast, I perused the paper. To my
dismay, the photo that had been on the news the previous night
filled the entire front page, complete with a garish heading:
Guardian angel or granny grappler?
A summary of
the incident took up prime space on page three, a number of
commentators weighing into both sides of the debate about the power
and authority of private security officers. I pushed my breakfast
away, hunger gone.

I spent the next hour fielding
calls from friends and family, all either disappointedly
sympathetic at the negative publicity for me (Mum and my
grandmothers), or chortling over it (everybody else).

By the time I joined the fresh
Heller’s
team in the foyer, I never wanted to hear about
that granny again. But of course, that was only my wish.

As I approached, one comedian
amongst the men called out, “Lock up your old ladies. Here comes
the Granny Groper!” They all laughed.

“It was the granny
grappler
, not the granny groper, you tool! I’m not a
pervert,” I protested.

They only laughed harder.

“I am
so
not hanging
around with you people,” I steamed, tired from my lack of sleep and
just not in the mood to be teased. I decided I’d wait in the suite
until it was time to leave.

I spun to catch the lift back up
in a huff, startling an elderly lady coming in the other direction.
She reared back in fright, her walking stick clattering to the
marble floor as she recognised me from the newspaper.

The men shouted with laughter in
the background.

“Watch out, Granny!” one yelled
as I stooped to pick up her stick, handing it back and smiling
gently at her. She snatched it from me and doddered away as fast as
her varicose-veined legs would let her, looking back over her
shoulder in fear.

“I’m not a monster!” I shouted
after her with a sudden flare of temper. “I’m not going to hurt
you. I have
grandmothers
!”

She did that weird kind of
run-hop that people who can’t, or shouldn’t, run do in fright. The
men continued to piss themselves laughing. In comparison, I was the
master of cool professionalism, gathering my dignity and taking
myself upstairs. I waited alone in that quiet haven until one of
them rang to inform me it was time to leave for the hospital.

I sat silently in the front
passenger seat of the first
Heller’s
vehicle, arms crossed.
Wanda elected to travel apart from me, so she was in the second
4WD, hopefully enjoying the uninterrupted attention and teasing
banter of the men. Usually I enjoyed it too, but today I decided
that she could have them all to herself.

“What about her?” asked the
driver, a man I didn’t know with thick black hair and overpowering
cologne. We’d stopped at a red light, and he pointed to a very
elderly lady shuffling along the footpath, her back bent over with
scoliosis, arthritic hands shakily clutching her walker, sparse
white hair blowing gently in the breeze. “Would you go nuclear on
her arse?” The three of them sniggered.

“She had a gun, you know,” I
reminded them.

“And a hip replacement.” More
sniggers.

“She could have killed someone,”
I muttered to myself, staring resolutely out the window until we
reached the hospital.

I was the first out of the
vehicle and not bothering to wait for my oh-so-supportive
colleagues, strode through the corridors to Yoni’s room. She was
showered, dressed and ready to leave, gorgeous, relaxed and happy.
I didn’t know how she managed to spring back so well from the
terrible damage she inflicted on her body. She thanked the doctors
and nursing staff graciously, but I found her lack of embarrassment
disturbing. If I’d had to have my stomach pumped out by strangers
because of my own over-indulgence, I would have been mortified to
say the least.

Her spirits were so high that
she even responded to some of the questions that the ever-present
paparazzi pack yelled out to her, advising them that, yes thank
you, she was now perfectly recovered from the tummy bug that had
suddenly afflicted her yesterday. I bundled her into the back seat
of the first 4WD, climbing in after her. The third man who’d
travelled to the hospital with us, now had to catch a lift with the
second vehicle, Wanda squeezed between two particularly large men
in the back seat, excited smile on her face.

“Where’s my limo?” whined
Yoni.

“We didn’t want to attract
attention by bringing it,” I explained curtly. Not that the
strategy had been effective judging from the paparazzi vehicles
buzzing around us again.

Yoni spent the rest of the day
quietly recuperating, but was back on the publicity trail the
following day. The remainder of the week passed with no further
incidents, although I had to endure an avalanche of granny jokes
from each different security team on duty. By the end of the week,
I was seriously considering a career change to some kind of job
that precluded the hiring of smartarse men.

Yoni and Wanda continued to
bicker constantly and no matter how much I listened, I couldn’t
detect any undercurrent of warmth or mutual affection. They had a
strange relationship. Now that I knew they were sisters, on
studying Wanda’s face, I noticed that Yoni and her shared the same
chin line, cheekbones and face shape, but otherwise there was
little resemblance between them. I wondered if they were
half-sisters or stepsisters, but Wanda hadn’t volunteered any more
information and I didn’t want to pry.

The premiere to Yoni’s new movie
went off without a hitch. She dazzled in a long, figure-hugging
emerald evening gown, her hair shining and loose around her
shoulders. She was poised and perfect, every inch the movie star.
On the red carpet she primped and preened, smiled charmingly to
fans, signed a few autographs, posed carefully for photos and gave
a couple of modest and amusing interviews, lapping up the
attention.

But the reviews the next day
completely panned the movie as unbelievable tripe, Yoni’s acting as
frozen as her Botoxed facial muscles. One critic declared that
there was more chemistry between him and his mother-in-law than
there was between the two lead characters. One scathed that it was
a spectacular failure as a rom com movie, being neither romantic
nor comedic. Another stated that halfway through the movie, she’d
thought about gouging out her own eyes so she didn’t have to watch
any more, realising that was futile because she’d still be able to
hear the clunky dialogue and over-emoting of the terrible acting.
And a fourth wrote that the movie was so excruciatingly painful to
watch that he’d afterwards contemplated having a root canal without
anaesthetic for some light relief.

Ouch!

Yoni brushed off the reviews as
jealous tall-poppy syndrome, only becoming genuinely incensed by
someone who suggested that perhaps she was now a little too
‘mature’ to still be playing sweet, ingenue roles. While she ranted
about that, Wanda and I exchanged glances. We’d both watched the
movie during the premiere and we’d quietly agreed that it
reeked.

At long last Friday evening
arrived. I was bursting with excitement, eagerly awaiting Heller’s
arrival so I could escape (and so I could see him again too, if I
was honest with myself). Will finally rang me back, but
disappointingly wasn’t available though he didn’t tell me why. So
instead I decided I’d hang with Daniel and Niq, looking forward to
going home and catching up with them.

I recognised the confident knock
on the door and flew over to throw it open in welcome. Mr Sexy
himself leaned on the doorway, tall and gorgeous, smiling down at
me. God, he looked good. I almost wished I was going to receive the
Heller treatment tonight. And I know it wasn’t very professional of
me, but I launched myself on him in a big hug.

We squeezed each other
tightly.

“This is nice! You look so happy
to see me for once, my sweet,” he exclaimed, leaning down to kiss
me on the forehead.

“I am
very
happy to see
you, Heller! Because now I can go home and leave you in
charge.”

His smile turned to a frown.
“No, you can’t. You’re still on duty until Ms Lemere leaves
tomorrow morning.”

I dropped my arms and stepped
away from him. “But you’re here. I don’t need to be here too,
surely?”

“I’m not on duty, Matilda. This
is my free time. And also, I won’t be here all night. So you must
stay.”

I glared at him with resentment.
“No! I don’t want to be here while Yoni and you are . . . you know.
It’s awkward.”

“It doesn’t bother me, my
sweet.”

“Well, it bothers me!”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. I just don’t want
to be here, that’s all.”

“I’ll try not to make too much
noise.”

“Stop it!”

“It’s not as if we’ll do
anything in front of you or ask you to join in. Although, now that
I think about it . . .”

“Heller, stop it! I don’t want
to be here.”

“Too bad, Matilda. You’re on
duty and you’re staying here in this suite tonight.” He paused.
“Perhaps you’re feeling a little jealous?”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake! I’m
not
jealous! How many times do I have to tell you?” I
shouted.

I picked up my packed bag, which
was resting by the door in anticipation of my departure. I flung it
angrily back into the corner of the lounge room where I’d been
storing it all week, paying no heed to any breakables inside. I
collapsed sulkily onto the lounge, switching on the TV and turning
up the volume until I was sure I wouldn’t be able to hear anything
from Yoni’s bedroom, even if they shouted at the top of their
lungs, which they probably would.

Yoni’s door opened and she
rushed out, dressed for seduction in a slinky short silk dress. She
smiled up at Heller, moving closer and rubbing her hand on his
arm.

“I thought I heard your voice,”
she purred. Then to me in a cattier tone, “Do you have to have that
television so loud?”

“Yes,” I snapped, refusing to
look at them.

She humphed at me and took
Heller by the hand, leading him back into her bedroom. I couldn’t
bear to watch.

After I turned the TV off for
the evening and settled into my bed, the faint sound of their
murmuring voices and occasional laughter kept me from falling
asleep. I stuffed my fingers in my ears, but it was one of the
longest nights I’d ever endured. I couldn’t get to sleep no matter
what I tried and the hours dragged by slowly.

I’d just drifted off to sleep in
utter exhaustion when I was woken by a gentle shake of my shoulder.
I opened my eyes blearily to find Heller kneeling down over me.

“I’m going home now,” he said
softly.

“Can’t I come too?” I
begged.

“I’m sorry, my sweet. I’ll see
you tomorrow when the job’s finished.”

I rolled over on my side away
from him. He kissed me on the cheek. I scrubbed at the spot
furiously with my fingers.

“Matilda,” he sighed and rose,
shutting the front door quietly and leaving me behind.

Yoni was beautiful, bright and
chirpy the next morning, stretching languorously. On the other
hand, I looked and felt like one of the three witches in
Macbeth
– the really grumpy, haggy, tired one. And checking
out the brilliant satisfied smile on Yoni’s face, I wouldn’t mind
inflicting some ‘double, double toil and trouble’ on her arse
either.